


Catch Me

by themegalosaurus



Series: J2 Set Stories [6]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Episode: s10e14 The Executioner's Song, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Jared, Hurt Jared Padalecki, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, On Set, One Shot, Schmoop, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:11:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3513068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a Tumblr prompt from <a href="http://tipsysam.tumblr.com">tipsysam</a>: 'Pls, I need a thousand J2 hurt/comfort fics about Jensen being overprotective after he “stabbed” Jared [during the filming of <i>The Executioner's Song</i>].'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch Me

"Catch me!" shrieks Jared, and flings himself forward into Jensen's arms. Jensen extends them, instinctively, more to protect himself than anything else; and Jared's solid bulk hits him hard in the chest. Winded, Jensen rocks onto his back foot for support. He feels Jared go floppy, arms draped over Jensen's shoulders, feet sliding away along the concrete floor.

"Seriously," says Jensen, "I know I've been working out but I don't know how you expect any human person to hold your weight."

Jared folds his head awkwardly backward, his nose on a level with Jensen's chin. He smiles, dimpling hard. "You love it," he says.

He's right, of course; Jensen does. An armful of Jared is his idea of a good time. Less enthusiastic are the crew members by whom they're surrounded, all set up and ready to continue shooting as soon as Jared settles down. Mark and Misha stand nearby, trading glances; they don't mind, really, Jensen thinks. Especially Misha, who's probably just glad that he doesn't have Jared's foot in his crotch. For once.

"Come on," says Jensen, shoving at Jared. "We got work to do."

Jared huffs and puffs but he's still smiling; and as he steps away, Jensen can feel the warmth of Jared's forearms lingering over his shoulders. It's silly to miss it, when they'll be coming together again so soon. The whole point of this scene is a hug, of sorts; certainly the closest thing they've had to one on screen since Jared was crying snotty into Jensen's shoulder for the last episode of season 9. Off camera, of course, it's a different story.

Jensen wonders, sometimes, how Sam and Dean do it; soldier on solitary in such physical isolation. Yeah, there are slaps to the back or the chest, nudges of knees, hands brushing over exchanged keys. But he thinks if he had to live like they did, stoic and silent and all alone in bed, something inside of him might shrivel up and die.

This is especially true of Sam. At least Dean hooks up occasionally, keeps himself going with whatever limited comfort there is to be found in a stranger’s arms. Sam, more cautious, never seems to get even that; which would be pitiful enough in itself, but is about ten thousand times worse given Jared’s naturally tactile affections. Ten years in, the lines blur sometimes in Jensen’s head. It’s difficult for him not to feel that Sam’s instincts, buried way down deep under that self-protectively placid exterior, must be the same. And the idea of Jared subjected to Sam's lonely existence, hug-starved between his rare encounters with the Winchesters' remaining friends... well, it yanks sharply somewhere deep inside Jensen’s chest.

(He’s not planning on sharing this information with Jared. The big dork knows well enough that Jensen loves him. There’s no point puffing him up with the realisation that he’s half in love with his character, too.)

Anyway, poor old lonely Sam is in for something of a treat today; the sensation of his brother’s despairing, dead weight in his arms. Which, phrased like that, seems rather less of a luxury: but honestly, the pair of them gotta take what they can. Dean really has to earn this one, too, battling his way through an emotionally gruelling encounter with Cain before he gets to let himself go, let Sam step in and support him as the kid’s been badgering him to all season.

Of course, the fact that it’s Jensen who’s gonna be falling makes it all the more ridiculous that Jared's been throwing himself about. Jensen says as much, then.

"Just warming up," Jared beams; but really he's winding down, composing his features and finding his mark. Jensen does the same, pausing for a moment while Zabrina darts in to touch up the bloody scratches on the side of his face. Crystal is busy too, twitching his jacket and tugging his belt back round to the right position.

"All ready?" Jensen asks, and it seems like they are; so he starts to prepare himself for this part of the scene. Misha's involved, technically, standing a little off to the side; but they're shooting Jensen's coverage and the centre of the shot is Dean’s exhausted slump into Sam’s embrace. Jensen breathes deep, tries to let Dean’s worry and unhappiness flow down through his limbs, exorcising the giggly remnants of the moment just gone. He watches as Jared does the same, flexing his fingers in the anxious movements with which Sam, even at his most stoic, betrays his fear. Together, eyes meeting, the pair of them settle into the roles they’ve both occupied for so long.

Then, "Action!" calls Phil, and Jensen sways on his feet. Hopeless, despairing, Dean gazes at Sam; and Jensen lets himself fall forward, trusting to it, knowing that Jared will be there to catch him. Jared does, hurrying close, bending in with that little furrow of anxiety between his eyebrows that's all Sam Winchester and nothing of Jared at all. They meet. Jensen crushes his chest against Jared's, which is warm and firm, and collapses his whole weight into his boyfriend's arms.

It happens then.

The knife that Jensen is wearing at his side, not the blunt first blade but a serious metal hunting knife with a sharp cutting edge, sinks straight into Jared's thigh. Jensen feels it go, feels the resistance of Jared's muscle pushing the hilt of the knife back against his hip, feels the arms around him tighten suddenly and slightly and feels the sharp pained puff of Jared's exhale.

He freezes in sympathy; but Jared, incredibly, is acting through it. "I've got you," he says, the strain in his voice imperceptible to anybody less familiar than Jensen is with its every cadence. "I've got you, Dean. You did it. I'm here."

Still hideously conscious of the weapon buried in Jared's leg, Jensen wants nothing more than to stop and pull away. But if Jared wants to keep on going then it seems particularly cruel to force a re-take now, when there's the chance that they can get the whole thing over and done. So he tries to carry on, letting the tears swim into his eyes, hoping that the fear and anxiety he's feeling will translate appropriately into Dean's own. Jared – Sam – pats soothing at his hair and Jensen’s heart is pounding, clutching tight with fear and guilt.

The pair of them hang there for what seems like minutes before Phil finally calls 'cut'. Jared’s leg gives way immediately, and Jensen’s caught by surprise, so that they almost fall before he braces himself and catches Jared under the armpit, grimacing at the necessity of carrying all that weight by the shoulder which is still recovering from Jared's last significant injury.

“Hey, hey, man, you OK?” he asks, and when Jared says nothing, just breathes heavily and clenches his jaw, Jensen really starts to freak out. He looks down at Jared’s wounded thigh. Blood is seeping from the slit in his jeans where Jensen's knife went through.

“Shit,” Jensen says, and tries to wriggle his arm more securely around Jared’s back. He looks up, at the watching faces around. "Can we get some help here?" he calls, his voice rougher and angrier than any of the crew deserves. "Can't you guys see he's hurt?"

Everybody starts to move. Misha swears under his breath and steps forward, tucks his arm under Jared’s other shoulder and helps Jensen walk him towards a chair. Seconds later, someone appears with a first aid kit and bandages but Jensen doesn’t even process who it is. He’s only looking at Jared, peering past strands of too-long hair at a face whose pallor sends him spiralling back to the summer in Rome; taking hotel stairs two at a time to find Jared lying sweaty on the bed, drowsy with painkillers and insisting to a panicking Osric that he was absolutely fine to carry on.

It had still been a little funny, then, before they’d understood the full extent of the damage and before the long summer of inactivity and eventual surgery that had left Jared so dwindled by the start of the season, and which had shot Jensen’s nerves to shit with fretful anxiety. He still feels a tight little tug of tension every time he notices the way that Jared’s clothes hang a little too loosely on his frame. He just. Is it too much to want Jared to be safe and well?

Michael, the on-set medic, is taking a pair of scissors to Jared’s jeans, and Jensen has to consciously prevent himself from trying to intervene. That won’t go down well. Jared’s very particular about pants, finds it hard to get stuff he likes to fit his frame, patches the pairs he likes at the knees and the crotch and wears them and wears them and wears them. Of course, these are Sam’s jeans, but the lines are blurred there as well, they’ll both borrow things (more or less permanently) from the wardrobes on set… and yeah, OK, maybe this irrelevant musing is just displacement, Jensen’s brain charitably tuning out the crisis unfolding beside him.

Embarrassed, he focuses back in, glances down at Jared’s newly bared thigh. The wound looks pretty rough: it’s not long, but it’s deep. There’s a stream of dark red blood welling steadily up, tricking down through the hair that covers Jared’s leg.

As Jensen watches, horror-stricken, Jared looks up, catches his eye. "Jen," he says. "I'm OK."

Jensen nods dumbly, looks away. This is so stupid. Jared is always hurting himself. It's cute, part of his long-limbed awkward charm, the same lack of coordination that makes him such an endearingly terrible dancer. That's fine.

It's just different when it's Jensen's fault.

“ _Jensen,_ ” says Jared, strained, and Jensen swings guiltily back towards him. Jared grins, watery, unconvincing. “Will you stop beating yourself up over this? I’m fine.”

“You don’t…” says Jensen, gesturing down to where Mike is lifting Jared’s leg to get a bandage underneath it. It’s an unfortunate moment. As Mike moves it, the flesh on either side of Jared’s cut shifts, and it _gapes,_ exposing a momentary flash of bright, interior tissue.

Jensen isn’t usually squeamish, really he isn’t. He’s too well used to the buckets of fake blood always sloshing about on set. But something about the sight of Jared, slender and exposed, combines with his already overwhelming guilt to heighten his anxiety and render him vulnerable. When he catches sight of the inside of Jared’s torn thigh, the whole room seems suddenly to swing on its axis around him. Everything goes grey.

It can only be a couple of seconds later when Jensen opens his eyes to find himself sat in a chair. Jared, now at eye level, shakes his head. “Jesus, Jen,” he says. “You’d think it was you who was bleeding.”

Jensen finds himself unable to smile. Instead, his lips tremble idiotically and he can feel an ache in his temples that feels embarrassingly like he might cry.

At that moment, Michael finishes, neatly tucking away the end of the bandage around Jared’s thigh. “Alright?” he says, and Jared nods, moving to get up.

Phil comes past, stops behind Jared’s chair. He seems to be feeling a little guilty himself. “I hate to say this, guys,” he says, “but we’re going to need to go again. I’m not sure we got the shot and in any case, there were a couple more angles I wanted to try.” He looks directly at Jared. “Are you gonna be OK to carry on?”

The kid will soldier on through anything; he’d keep quiet about a broken limb until somebody noticed the bone sticking out of his elbow. Jensen can still remember the argument they had when he discovered Jared had gone against doctor’s advice in abandoning his sling just four weeks into filming for the season. “Sam wouldn’t wear a sling for longer than he had to,” Jared had said; and “This might have escaped your notice,” Jensen had gritted, “but Sam Winchester isn’t exactly a model of health and happiness.”

So when Phil asks if they’re ready to continue, Jensen braces himself for Jared’s inevitable nod. And yes, Jared moves his head, opens his mouth to agree. Then he catches Jensen’s eye.

“Do you mind if I take another ten minutes, Phil?” he says.

Phil can’t really argue, given the blood that’s already begun to seep through the bright white bandage around Jared’s leg. And when Jared wobbles up onto his other foot, it’s only natural for Jensen to step forward to support him. He holds on as Jared shuffles into a pair of tracksuit pants. Too short, they swing ridiculous around his ankles, leaving his feet bare and exposed.

“I’m just gonna hop back to my trailer for five minutes,” Jared says, tightening the arm he’s got locked around Jensen’s shoulder. “Come on, Jen.”

Together, they half-stumble off the soundstage, across the lot and over to Jared’s trailer. More than once, Jared tries to tug away, attempting to demonstrate (Jensen’s sure) that he’s not really hurting; but it only takes one pained wince, incompletely hidden, to scupper that plan. “Will you just let me help you?” Jensen says. It comes out higher than he’d intended: less casual, more distressed. He can feel Jared looking at him, but he gazes resolutely forward through blurring eyes.

Eventually, “Sure,” says Jared, obediently transferring his weight onto Jensen’s arm.

Finally in the haven of the trailer, with Jared settled on the couch, Jensen busies himself in the little kitchen at the back. “I’ll make you a coffee,” he says to Jared; but really it’s an excuse, finding a way to take the moment he needs to still his jittering hands and tighten his resolve against the tears that are, absurdly, still threatening to fall.

“Jensen?” says Jared, in a warning tone, and Jensen forces himself to turn around. He’s in time to catch an expression of intense, foolish fondness lingering on Jared’s countenance, although it shifts almost instantaneously into a good-natured roll of the eyes. “Come over here, you big idiot.”

Jensen comes, perching uncertain on the couch’s far side.

“Really?” says Jared. “You really gonna make me move?” So Jensen inches closer, and then Jared’s big hands are on his shoulders, at his back, tugging him forward into a hug. Jensen resists, holding his torso stiffly for another moment before he relents, relaxes, and allows himself to give in. He snakes his arms around Jared’s too-skinny waist and tries to calm himself down.

Jared doesn’t say anything for a moment, just tightens his grip around Jensen’s back. Jensen buries his face in Jared’s hair and inhales. OK. He’s OK. Jared’s OK, warm and steady around him. As they breathe together, he can feel his heart slowing to match Jared’s in its regular beat.

“Better?” says Jared, finally pulling away. He looks straight into Jensen’s eyes, and his whole face softens. He kisses Jensen on the forehead. “I love you. You know that, right?”

Jensen nods.

“Good. And you know I’m OK?”

Jensen nods again.

“Great. So, let’s get going.” Jared holds up his hand to forestall Jensen’s complaint. “Look, the sooner we get this done with, the sooner we can be at home and you can look after me properly.”

He raises an eyebrow. This time Jensen really does smile. Yeah. Yeah, that sounds all right.

So, he stands up and offers a hand to Jared, returning with him across the lot to where the others are waiting. He’s still pretty sure that Jared’s more hurt than he’s letting on, but he’s also beginning to realise that he might also have overdone it, just a little, with the scale of his initial reaction. He feels the weight of Jared’s hand in the small of his back, grounding him. It’s OK.

“Ready?” Phil asks as they get back on set; and they are, more or less, Jared carefully sliding his legs into the new pair of jeans that Crystal has magicked out of somewhere or another. The knife, this time, is left aside. “It won’t even be in shot,” Brian assures Jensen; and he bites back the impulse to demand why it was ever there in the first place, then. It’s OK. They’re moving on.

Minutes later, the whole machine has swung back into motion, marks found and places resumed, silence settling over the set. “Places,” calls Phil and they’re there, again, Dean and Sam staring at one another across the basement of the barn.

This time, it’s easy for Jensen to find the resources. Dean’s just found out that he might kill Sam; that he’s on track to cut loose the only thing holding him tight to his humanity and himself. So Jensen looks at Jared, sweet and caring and concerned, and he thinks about the ways in which his life would be different, and worse, without this big, beautiful goofball at his side. He thinks about the way that he felt, just now, and the way that he’d feel if he did anything really serious to hurt Jared, if he did anything that Jared couldn’t help him fix.

He feels the panic starting to rise again in his chest, but when he looks over, trepidatious, through Dean’s eyes, he sees Sam – sees Jared – staring back at him, radiating love and reassurance from his every pore.

“Action,” calls Phil.

Jensen steps forward; falls. Jared catches him. “I’ve got you,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second ever J2 RPF and it's another real-life hurt Jared incident: I'm seriously thinking of starting a series. Anyway, if you liked this one you may well enjoy the other one, [Red](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2110941). As always, I'm very grateful for any feedback! If you liked it then the nicest thing you can do is to let me know why ♥


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